


then something broke in me (and i wanted to go home)

by pastequefolle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Post-Canon, post 8x04, the canon divergence being that Jaime went to KL to kill Cersei not save her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-02-28 05:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18750202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastequefolle/pseuds/pastequefolle
Summary: The war is over, and Jaime Lannister has survived. He makes his way back to Brienne slowly and painfully.





	1. the lord in the tower

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure idfic, written in case we get a terrible ending. My first fic in this fandom and not beta-read either. Whoops.
> 
> Title from "Wish that you were here" by Florence + The Machine.

It was a slow and laborious climb, particularly for a middle-aged man still recovering from terrible wounds, but finally he had made it to the top of the tower of the Hand. Jaime Lannister stood, dragging in deep breaths, and gingerly tested the bandages that swathed his side. Nothing seemed to have torn open, so he heaved a sigh and walked towards one of the large windows, the one that had a clear view of the Kingsroad and the slow stream of traffic into King’s Landing. As he watched, that traffic consisted of nothing more than a few wagons and some smallfolk on foot, so Jaime dragged a chair across to the window and settled in to wait.

Suddenly behind him, a familiar voice said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re sat here in this tower like a maiden in the stories waiting to catch a glimpse of her true love. Oh wait, I do know better and that’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it, you great blond twat?” 

Jaime sighed and turned, wincing – maybe something had torn open after all? – to glare weakly at the new Lord of Highgarden. “Lord Blackwater, first of your name” – the erstwhile sellsword grinned – “haven’t you got anything better to do?” 

Bronn pulled up another chair and sat down next to Jaime. “Better? Possibly. I have to come up with a sigil for myself. What a pile of lordly nonsense.” 

“You asked for – no, demanded this pile of lordly nonsense as I recall, at crossbow-point even.” Jaime paused. “Actually how’s that for a sigil? ‘Sable with a crossbow argent?’”

Bronn barked a laugh. “That’ll do, I think. What about words? I don’t think ‘Fuck Off’ will go down too well with the rest of these highborn weaklings. How about ‘Try it?’” 

There was no reply. Next to him Jaime had stood up, slowly, and was staring out the window, so Bronn turned and did the same. On the distant Kingsroad a large party was now visible, the Stark direwolf bounding on flags held by riders preceding a large wheelhouse. There were a few armed men on horseback, but even at this distance, Bronn could see that there was no large blonde woman to be seen. His former employer looked heartbroken – Seven above, these highborn were soft! – so Bronn, in a rare fit of compassion said, “Maybe she’s in the wheelhouse?” 

Jaime Lannister laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound. “Can you really see Brienne, the epitome of knightly behaviour, riding in the wheelhouse rather than guarding her liege lady from harm in the treacherous south?”

Bronn shook his head silently. Next to him, Jaime’s face was frozen, equal parts despair and self-loathing. Nothing for it, Bronn thought, or he’ll be up here all day weeping. “Was the sex that bad?” 

Jaime turned to look at Bronn, outrage writ large on his stupid Lannister face. He opened his mouth once, thought better of it, closed it, then opened it to speak, slowly and through his teeth: “Not only is that no concern of yours, but perhaps now that you’re a great lord, you should remember that one speaks of highborn ladies with respect.” 

“Oh respect, is it? And were you respecting her when you bedded her without saying words before a Septon? Listen, you lummox-“ Jaime had sat back down and put his head in his hands – “listen, you can either sit here moping in this tower, or you can go meet and the Starks and find out for sure whether she’s here or not.” 

Jaime still looked ambivalent, but Bronn gave him no choice, grabbing him by the elbow, ignoring his protests, and hoisting him out of his chair. “Down the stairs with you, my Lord of Lannister! And while we’re walking you can come up with a nice set of words for me. After all, aren’t you Lannisters meant to be good with words?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRAG HIM BRONN. Also Jaime Lannister has a medal in gazing at Brienne from afar. (He even gazed longingly at TARTH ffs.) He would 200% climb a tower to watch her enter the city.
> 
> Also Bronn's proposed words are too similar to House Plumm's "Come Try Me", but Jaime's too busy gazing out the window to tell him.


	2. wolves in the city

Bronn had kept up a steady patter of insults and jokes all the way down the stairs of the Tower of the Hand, across the Red Keep and into the shaded courtyard where the Starks were expected to arrive. The city was still recovering from the Queens’ War, as the smallfolk had begun to call it, and so the retinues and attendants that might be expected to meet the representatives of one of the Great Houses were largely absent. Absent too were any of the members of the new Grand Council, they had been shut up in deliberations all day for weeks; Jaime had only managed to escape being closeted in with them by virtue of only just having risen from his sick bed.

To his side, he heard Bronn’s chatter draw to a close. In the resulting silence he could hear the everyday sounds of the city coming back to life; he could hear the clatter of the Stark wheelhouse growing nearer; louder still was his heart, thumping and thumping till he felt it must burst from his body. He had not been this afraid to face the dead.

“Do you know what, Lannister, I actually feel sorry for you.”

Jaime had enough Lannister pride left to turn an offended face to Bronn, who shrugged. “Look, for all that you’re rich and annoying handsome, you’ve never actually had to woo a woman before, have you? To be honest, I’m surprised you even managed to woo this one, she’s far too sensible for your nonsense.”

Jaime swallowed and turned his eyes back the courtyard entry. Why was his mouth so dry? “I don’t have to woo her, I have to beg her forgiveness,” he rasped, as the wheelhouse finally swept into the courtyard and Bronn gave him another pitying glance.

The Lady of Winterfell descended the wheelhouse first, and as men went in to carry her brother and his chair out, she shook her skirts out, straightened her shoulders and looked about her. In the afternoon sunlight, her Tully hair shone brightly, while her blue eyes carried all the chill of the North. Blue eyes, he thought, but nothing compared to _hers_. As her eyes fell on him, they grew even icier until he was reminded of the eerie blue eyes of the Night King’s wights. He started towards her, ignoring the almost palpable waves of dislike coming off her and made a short bow. Behind her, Brandon Stark had been carried out and was now gazing about him with remote disinterest. The wheelhouse doors had been shut.

“My Lady,” he started, uncertainly, “on behalf of the Grand Council, I welcome you and Lord Brandon to King’s Landing.”

Sansa bowed back. For all that she disliked him, the girl knew her courtesies. “I thank your for your welcome, _my Lord_ –“ and if there was a sardonic twist to her mouth, there was only him and Bronn to see – “ and would ask that you show us to our chambers. The journey from the north is tiring, as you can well imagine.”

As he could imagine? As if he had not ridden the 500 leagues between Winterfell and King’s Landing twice in the past year. But the girl was still glaring at him implacably, so he reined in his temper and gestured to her and the rest of the Stark party to follow him. They walked in a frigid silence until they reached the apartment set aside for the Starks. He could feel waves of amusement pouring off of Bronn but could not bring himself to say anything until Sansa Stark turned to them and gave them short, nearly rude nods of dismissal.

“My Lady,” he said, and had to stop and clear his throat. Behind him Bronn snorted. He had vivid visions of murdering the man and ending House Blackwater before it even began, only Bronn would probably kill him first, and he couldn’t die just yet, not without _knowing_.

“My Lady, I do not see Ser Brienne with your party.”

Sansa’s glare deepened. “How nice that your eyesight remains sharp in your old age.”

Old age? He could hardly deny it. He was old enough to be her father. There was a certain poetry to being equally despised by father and daughter, but he pressed on.

“Does Ser Brienne remain at Winterfell?”

“What interest can you possibly have in my sworn sword?” she returned and he flinched visibly.

He took a deep breath. _Have you ever run from a fight?_

“My Lady, may we speak privately?” Her gaze remained contemptuous, but she turned to her servants and nodded, and within a few moments only Brandon Stark, Sansa and he remained in the room. Bronn had been the last to leave, sauntering jauntily out with a look that promised much mockery for Jaime later.

“My Lady, you perhaps know that I did not leave things well between Brienne and myself –“

“ – There’s an understatement – “

“ – but I would like to see her and… I would like to apologize.”

“And what about what she wants?”

Jaime winced.

“I have no wish to importune her, or to hurt her more than I already have done, but I owe her an apology. And you know what they say about Lannisters.” He tried to grin, but it failed in the face of Stark Indifference.

Sansa Stark said nothing, but he could see her thinking, considering. The awkward silence was broken by Bran. “Stay here.”

Jaime was about to ask, _and do what_ , but Bran continued, “Stay here. Stay with me. Please.”

Jaime staggered. He would have fallen had not Sansa caught him by the elbow and guided him into a chair. She turned to look at her brother, but his gaze was once again, remote, unseeing. She turned back to Jaime, who felt like death.

Finally after a few minutes of silence, he asked, “Is she at Winterfell?”

Sansa looked at him. It was the same evaluating look her mother had given him as he sat in chains, though far colder. Finally, she came to a decision. “No, she is not. I have released her from my service.”

He let out a breath, shuddering. “Why?”

She shrugged.

“Tarth? She has gone home?”

“She has.”

He let out another deep breath, and raised his eyes to the Starks. In the relative dark of the apartment, they were uncannily still. _Wolves_ , he thought, and got to his feet.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa, for your time. I owe you a debt.”

She had stood up as well, and some of the contempt was gone from her face. “I shall remember, Lord Jaime. _You_ know what they say about the North.”


	3. beset on all sides

For all his urgency, it was a week before Jaime was able to get on a boat to Tarth. After his disastrous interview with the Starks, Bronn had had to practically carry him back to his chambers, where a maester was summoned and proceeded to poke and prod him painfully.

“The wound’s not torn yet, my Lord, but it’s a near thing. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay abed a few more days to let this heal completely.” The maester paused, and Jaime nodded blindly. The man peered suspiciously at him, and went on, “absolutely no training or fighting or whatever you’ve been doing to yourself.”

From the chamber door, Bronn said, “Stairs.”

“Stairs?” repeated the maester incredulously, and Jaime laughed, almost hysterical. “Stairs,” he said, and his voice sounded strange even to his ears, “strange isn’t it, the things we do for love.”

Distantly he heard Bronn escorting the maester away as he lay down and tried not to think.

Two days later, Sansa Stark came to visit him; the severity of her expression matched by the northern austerity of her dress. Unbidden, he thought of Cersei, and how she would die before wearing such a plain gown. _And she did die_ , some mad part of his brain gibbered, but he valiantly pushed the thought away and turned a nearly neutral face towards his visitor.

“Lady Stark, I had not expected this visit.”

She regarded him steadily. “I have no great love for the Lannisters” – he could not hold back a snort – “but the seven kingdoms have been through enough upheaval of late. We do not need to lose the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands on top of all our other losses.”

The losses had indeed been heavy, so much so that his brain had shied away from fully understanding the enormity of it.

Still, he appreciated the girl coming to see him, Tully duty outweighing Stark frost, and said so. “I thank you for your concern, but I should be up and about in a few days.”

She nodded and turned to leave. At the door, she turned and paused. “You do look terrible.”

He shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

She went on, “She looked worse. After.”

She left him, ladylike mask firmly in place, as he stared blindly at the place where his hand had been. Five days later, he was on a boat for Tarth, having escaped King’s Landing and a place on the Grand Council by the very clever means of having Bronn sneak him onto a ship in the middle of the night.

“The things I do for you Lannisters,” Bronn had grumbled, “This is the last favour, mind you. From now on, you blond idiots want anything doing, you’re going to have to find a new sellsword.”

Jaime reached out with his left hand, and clasped the other man’s hand warmly. “Lord Blackwater. Thank you.”

Bronn sighed, “Just, try not to fuck it up more than you already have, aye?” and clambered out of the cabin, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts.


	4. the evening star

The journey was short but unpleasant. Try as he might, Jaime could not think of what to say to Brienne when he saw her again. What was there to say? _I’m a fool_? She already knew that. _I’m your fool?_ She probably no longer wanted him. He had the unpleasant awareness that he had been given something very precious and fragile and that he had tossed it in the mud as he rode away from her and Winterfell. He could not bear it if Brienne were to look at him as she had when they first met, with contempt and judgement shining from her beautiful eyes.

The waters of Shipbreaker Bay were unusually calm and blue as his ship sailed into the harbour at Evenfall. Sapphire blue, he thought, but nothing compared to her eyes, as he disembarked and made  his way to Evenfall Hall. At the gate, he identified himself as Lord Jaime Lannister to two very confused-looking guards, one of whom asked, “If you’re Jaime Lannister, where’s your golden hand?”

“Lost,” he bit out. “I am here to see Lady Brienne.”

The guards exchanged a glance and sent for the castle steward, whose initial look of confusion quickly gave way to suspicion. Brienne had been just as suspicious of him at the start. Was it something in the water on Tarth?

“I am here to see Lady Brienne,” he repeated, and the steward nodded. “Follow me, Lord Jaime, I will take you to the Great Hall.”

As they walked in silence, Jaime could hear the beating of his heart loud in his ears. _Almost there_ , he thought, _almost_ , though of course he still had no idea what he would say when he actually was there.

The reached a great door, at which the steward knocked and then opened without waiting for a reply. “Lord Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock,” he shouted, and gestured for Jaime to enter. Jaime did, and the door was shut behind him, leaving him alone in the great stone hall.

Except he wasn’t alone. Standing by the fire was a tall figure, taller even than Brienne, his blond hair faded to white and his blue eyes a pale echo of his daughter’s. _Selwyn Tarth_ , Jaime realized, and now he realized also where his lady had inherited her formidable glare.

“Lord Selwyn,” he began, only to be interrupted – “Jaime Lannister. Why are you here?”

He took a deep breath. Lies and cleverness would avail him little here, and yet what was a Lannister besides lies and cleverness?

“I owe Lady Brienne an apology.”

Uncanny, to be regarded by eyes so similar to hers. Had she ever looked at him in that measuring way? She had, he remembered now, the night after the battle of Winterfell, when he had gone to her room with a jug of wine and a hopeful heart. Her gaze had been calm and assessing as he had prattled on about how warm the room was, until finally she came to a decision – _the worst of her life, probably_ – and decided she wanted him.

Finally Selwyn Tarth nodded. “And of course, you Lannisters always pay your debts, isn’t that right? Sit down a moment, I’d have a word with you before I send you to speak to my daughter.”

Jaime sat, and the big man lowered himself into a large chair opposite him.

“I understand you made my daughter a knight.”

“I did.” Jaime smiled, “I can think of no one better suited to the title than Brienne.”

“Knighthood was always her heart’s desire. For that alone, I thank you.”

Jaime waited, uncertain.

“I tried to make a match for her, did she tell you that?” Jaime shook his head. “Thrice I tried, and thrice I failed. The first died of a fever, the third she saw off herself, but the second?” Now Selwyn Tarth shook his head. “It was a poor match for my daughter, but I thought the Lordship of Tarth would be enough to keep a mere landed knight. I judged poorly. The man came here, to Evenfall Hall, to meet my daughter. We waited, him and I, here in this hall for her to join us. She walked in, eyes downcast, shy as any maiden, to meet her future husband, and do you know what the bastard did?”

Jaime was very still. He forced himself to shake his head, _no._

 “He gave her a rose, and grandly proclaimed that that was all she would have of him, for she was too ugly to wed.”

Jaime forced himself to look up and meet the Evenstar’s eyes.

“Who?”

Selwyn Tarth smiled, ruefully. “It does not matter. I do not tell you this story to send you on a quest of revenge, Lord Jaime. I tell you because,” the smile fell away from the Evenstar’s face, “as grievously as that man hurt her, you hurt her even more.”

Jaime could barely breathe.

“An apology, is it? Aye, you owe my daughter that and more. I’d like nothing more than to beat you bloody, except for one thing. It’s her you’ve hurt, and her you’ll answer to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this house we do not even take Red Ronnet Connington's name because he is the WORST.


	5. the bear and the maiden fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I did ask myself if I was being too mean to Jaime, but then I rewatched that scene where Brienne's voice breaks and I was like, "NOPE")

Having left Lord Selwyn glowering into a mug of ale, Jaime trailed the steward of Evenfall Hall across the keep. Dimly, he noticed the curious stares and whispers of the people they passed. “Is that the Kingslayer?” a child said, before being shushed by someone.

Jaime sighed. The steward cast a glance at him, but kept walking. Soon they came to an open passage and the steward stopped. The passage led to a fenced courtyard, where he could see children training, and there, leaning on the fence with her back to him was Brienne.

Her hair was longer, he noticed, now long enough to barely brush the top of her broad shoulders. He imagined himself brushing that hair aside to drop a soft kiss on her neck, and shuddered. She was wearing a long cloak, with plenty of fur against the winter chill – probably a souvenir of her time in the North. He wanted to stand there for hours, days, just looking at her. But no. _Have you ever run from a fight?_ His own words echoed back in his head. 

“Brienne,” he rasped out, “Ser Brienne.”

Her head came up and her shoulders squared, but she did not turn. The steward had walked past Jaime and onwards to the courtyard, and was now in the process of emptying it out. Within a minute both passage and courtyard were empty, and they were alone.

“Brienne,” he began again, “I came to apologize.”

She had still not turned, not even a glance askance, but he could see her hands resting on the fence, clenching and unclenching.

“I had to go. Not for love of Cersei – it wasn’t that – hadn’t been that for a long time, but…”

“But what?” Her voice sounded as rough as his, but it gave him hope.

He took a deep breath, started again. “When you told me the news from the south, that Cersei seemed to be winning – I knew she had to be stopped. She was Aerys come again; a mad Queen holding King’s Landing hostage even as her enemies stood at the gate. She even succeeded where Aerys failed, and burned her enemies in the Sept of Baelor. I knew Daenerys wouldn’t be able to get in; Cersei would use the smallfolk as shields from the Dragon Queen’s wrath. But _I_ , I could get in, and she would let me close, and I could –“ his voice had started to shake.

“You could do what?”

“Kill her,” and here his voice broke entirely, “kill my twin, my lover, the mother of my three children and add kinslaying and queenslaying to my list of sins.”

She still had her back to him, and her head straight, her gaze fixed on some remote point. “Go on,” she said, her voice as chilly and remote as if they were total strangers.

“When we were born, Cersei and I, she came first, and I followed, clutching her heel. I knew – I had always known – that as we had come into the world together, so we would leave it. I expected to kill her and to die in the attempt. I didn’t, I didn’t die, but I was sorely wounded, but I came to you as soon as I could – Brienne, Brienne, will you not even look at me?”

“Finish what you came to say first.”

He swallowed, paused. _You still owe her an apology_ , he thought, _a Lannister always pays their debts_.

“I am sorry that I hurt you.” He heard her gasp, but continued. “You were – you are – the best, the most honourable person I’ve ever known, and you trusted me, and I failed you.”

“You did,” she said, and her voice was unsteady, “You _did_ , you made me _beg_ ,” and here her voice broke on a sob. It was the worst sound in the world; he had already heard it one time too many.

“I am sorry,” now his voice was wobbling too, weren’t they a fine pair, “that I didn’t make something clear to you before I left Winterfell. I love you. I have loved you for years, I – “

Brienne had finally turned to look at him, drawing her voluminous cloak about her, and he couldn’t take her eyes off her face, her dear, beloved face and those glorious sapphire eyes, which were even more beautiful than he had remembered.

“I love you,” he went on, voice slightly steadier, “and I know I am not worthy of you, but I would like to spend the rest of my life trying to be.”

“What if I don’t want you to?” she said, and his heart fell. He stood there frozen, eyes glued to her face, while she stared back at him. He cleared his throat, said, “I’ll go,” and she laughed.

“You really don’t _listen_ , do you?” she started to walk towards him, curiously less graceful than usual, and he could not take his eyes off her face, memorizing her, if this was to be the last time, the sight would have to last him all his days, only she was walking right up to him, grabbing his face in both her hands, just as she had in the courtyard at Winterfell. “I’ll tell you once again, then. You’re a _good man_ , Jaime Lannister –“ and he couldn’t resist, he reached up and kissed her, and she kissed back, and all of a sudden he realized there was rather a lot more of her than he was accustomed to, and pulled back. His mind didn’t seem to be able to make sense of reality; that there would be a child, both his and hers, to grow up in this new, hopefully better world; a child that he might own as his own; a Lannister not just in looks but in name.

He looked back up at her, frozen in shock, and she laughed. “Don’t you dare ask me if that’s a babe, Jaime, I thought you Lannisters were meant to be clever.” She reached down and kissed him again, gently this time, then she took one of her hands away from his face, grabbed his left hand, and brought it to her belly. Suddenly he felt a distinct nudge against his palm, and he couldn’t help it, he gasped, and looked at her, only to find her looking down at her belly with a look of total tenderness.

“Definitely a Lannister,” she murmured, “already roaring and pawing.”

“Takes after his mother, I’d say, he kicks as hard as you do in your sleep.” They smiled at each other, and afterwards he never knew if he had reached for her, or she for him, but suddenly they were kissing as if the world was ending. Unsurprisingly, it was she who found the strength to stop.

“Marry me, Jaime.”

He grinned. “Isn’t that my line, wench?”

She rolled her eyes at the old insult, “You just called me the best person you know. The wench line has rather lost its sting after that.”

“You are, you know – my wench, the best person I know, my wife as soon as we find a Septon, my maiden fair – “

“Maiden fair – Jaime, be reasonable – “

“And of course, I look forward to licking the honey from your hair, as you sigh, and you squeal – “

“Jaime!” she rolled her eyes, but she was blushing, and her glorious eyes shining and beneath her heart he could feel their lion cub settling.

He didn’t deserve this happiness, he knew, but he was Lannister enough to take what was offered; and holding Brienne’s hand in his, they both walked back through Evenfall Hall to give Lord Selwyn their news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this may have an epilogue or two, not sure yet. 
> 
> Also, I'm on [tumblr](https://pastequefolle.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi and/or commiserate about the show.


	6. in the sight of gods and men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short and extremely sappy.

They were wed the very same day in the Great Hall at Evenfall, with all the Keep in attendance to stare and mutter about their Lady’s one-handed groom. For the first time that Jaime could remember, he was not bothered by the whispers around him; he felt vaguely light-headed, as though someone had clouted him in the head during a melee. That Brienne had agreed to marry him was good fortune enough; that she was carrying his child was like something out of his more sentimental dreams.

They had gone to find Lord Selwyn after their rapprochement; arm-in-arm and giggling like children. Selwyn had taken one look at his daughter and heaved a great sigh. “Are you sure you don’t want me to blacken his eye for you, daughter?” Brienne had smiled – he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing her smile – and said, “perhaps after the wedding, father” and Jaime was so happy that even the prospect of taking blows from his goodfather fazed him not at all. Neither of them saw any point in waiting, especially with her six moons gone with child, so Lord Selwyn had bellowed for his steward, who had presumably gone to bellow for the septon, and within a half-hour, they were standing up to be married.

The whole thing felt as thought it were a dream; it only began to feel real when the septon asked them to say their vows. “I am hers, and she is mine,“ he said, acutely conscious that he was a _terrible_ bargain as a groom and acutely grateful that she wanted him anyway, “From this day, until the end of my days.” Brienne’s shining eyes were fixed on him as she mirrored the vows in a low, almost trembling voice.

“With this kiss –“ was that his voice, wobbling like a boy’s? –“I pledge my love.” She repeated the words back to him, her voice just as wobbly, and then they were kissing, chastely at first and then wildly, passionately, until they were interrupted by a chorus of cleared throats. Brienne blushed even harder – this close, he could feel the warmth of her face – and Jaime grinned.

“ _Ser wife_ ,” he said, for only her to hear.

“ _Ser husband_ ,” she replied, just as quietly, and they waited patiently as the septon proclaimed what they both already knew; that they were one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: Lord Selwyn never gives Jaime that black eye, though he dearly, dearly wants to.


	7. an island feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws hands up helplessly*
> 
> so i have no idea how long this is going to go, but here's another very short schmoopy mini chapter at their wedding feast.

The wedding feast that followed was paltry by Lannister standards but Jaime did not care in the slightest. The last wedding he had attended had been that of his firstborn; seventy-seven courses, a thousand guests from among the greatest in the realm and the groom dead by the end. This one had maybe ten dishes and those in attendance were mostly smallfolk, but at least he would survive the feast – unless his goodfather came to his senses, realized that the Kingslayer was nowhere near good enough for his only daughter, and decided to take matters into his own hands.

“What nonsense are you thinking now?” Brienne asked, taking his hand in hers.

“Nonsense?” he parried, “Ser wife, should you not speak to your Lord Husband with more respect?”

“Not when I can tell he’s got some idiotic notion in his head. What’s the matter?”

She knew him too well, he realized ruefully. “Do you remember Joffrey’s wedding? All that pomp and grandeur and death as the grand finale.”

Her hand tightened on his, a brief reassurance. They had never spoken of Joffrey, his golden firstborn, the worst parts of him and Cersei given free rein. Once the shock of his death had passed, Jaime had been first relieved and then ashamed of that relief; ashamed also of his part in making a gloriously unfit pretender-King.

“Jaime” _–_ by the Seven, he loved the way she said his name – “do you know what I remember most from that wedding?”

He was so surprised he turned in his seat to look at her directly. “What could be more memorable than murder?”

She hesitated momentarily, looking down at the table, and then looked back up at him.

“I spoke with Cersei,” she said, slowly, “and she asked me whether I loved you.”

“And what answer did you give?” he asked, strangely hoarse, and she replied, “To her? I said nothing. But it was then that I realized – and I think she realized it too – that whatever was between us was stronger than friendship, stronger than regard, _even then_ , at least on my side –“

He couldn’t help it, he reached for her and kissed her. She was momentarily startled but almost immediately kissed him back. He could dimly hear Lord Selwyn grumbling, _not again_ , but he didn’t care, he couldn’t care; he was the luckiest man in Westeros because he had Brienne of Tarth as his wife, and she would make sure he didn’t get murdered at their wedding feast.

 “On my side as well, my dearest,” he whispered, in between kisses, “ _even then_ , on my side as well.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Oathkeeper – Jaime, I want Oathkeeper,” Brienne panted.

Jaime winced – _Gods_ , her grip was strong – and waited for the pains to pass. Her labour had begun just after breakfast, and now it was late afternoon. When her head fell back against his shoulder and the furrows had left her brow, he asked, “Had enough of married life, dearling?”

“Idiot man,” she murmured fondly, “Perhaps I ought to hate you for this pain, but I don’t. I never thought to be a mother, before you, before Winterfell –“

“Before rather a lot of Dornish red?” He didn’t have to see her face to know that she was rolling her eyes. “Dorne took one child away from me, Dornish wine helped us make another. What do you call that, Brienne?”

She sighed, “It means that I will always have a soft spot for Dorne, Jaime, if it had a role to play in bringing you to me.” She turned, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Oathkeeper?”

“As my ser wife demands,” he said, easing himself out from behind her and walking to their solar, where Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail were both mounted over the fireplace. He reached for Oathkeeper and brought it back to his wife, who reached for it with her right hand and placed it on the bed beside her. He seated himself behind Brienne, allowing her to lean on him, and gave her his left hand to hold, ignoring the master and the midwife, who had both probably hoped he would succumb to propriety and leave his wife to birth the babe without his disruptive presence. Another pain was soon upon her, and she moaned. He whispered encouragements and endearments in her ear; she gave no sign of hearing them but her left hand held his in an iron grip, and her right hand was curled around Oathkeeper’s pommel.

When the pain passed, Brienne said in a low voice, “I am a warrior and an anointed knight, and this is just another battlefield, husband.”

“A woman’s war, Brienne. Would that I could fight it for you.”

“I have Oathkeeper,” she murmured, “and I have you and Maester Gerold and goodwife Marya by my side. I am as armed and armoured as I need to be for this fight.”

After that, the pains came faster and closer together, and there was little and less time for conversation. Servants came in to light lamps and candles, but Jaime paid them no mind, all his attention on his labouring wife. He helped her walk slowly around the room between contractions, helped her drink little sips of water, and marvelled at her strength. Brienne was as fierce in this fight as she had been at the battle of Winterfell, and yet he, who had always prayed to the Warrior, found himself turning to the Mother. _Gentle Mother_ , he prayed, _have mercy; do not allow the Stranger to take her, as he took my mother and hers._ He silently repeated the words over and over to himself in an unceasing chorus.

Finally, when dawn had just begun to lighten the sky outside their window, Marya told Brienne it was time to push. She nodded and bore down, screaming, until suddenly, abruptly, she stopped, slumping against him and sobbing. From the foot of the bed came an angry wail. Jaime waited, frozen.

“A boy, my Lady,” said Marya, laying a screaming, squirming bundle in Brienne’s arms. “Listen to him roar,” Jaime rasped, as Brienne crooned at the baby, “He’s a Lannister through and through, roaring his displeasure at the world.”

“As if I didn’t have my hands full enough with one Lannister,” Brienne said, laughing, “Oh, look, Jaime, isn’t he the sweetest thing?”

Their son was fat and as red in the face as his mother, with a deeply surly expression. And yet, as he gazed about him with large blue eyes, Jaime had to agree. “Absolutely the sweetest, wife.”

After the afterbirth had been passed, Brienne was inspected by both Marya and Maester Gerold and deemed to be alright. The linens were changed, Brienne was tucked into bed with the baby, and a servant was sent to wake and fetch Lord Selwyn. Jaime sat next to Brienne and watched their son suckle, his tiny hand against her breast. With his index finger, Jaime reached for that hand, dislodging it from Brienne. His son grabbed his finger with a strong grip, and immediately let go, returning his hand back to his mother’s breast. “He’ll be as strong and as stubborn as you, ser wife.”

Brienne smiled, even as she shifted the babe from one breast to the other. Jaime looked at her, admiring; she took to motherhood as easily as she had the sword. They sat in silence a few moments, watching their son at his first meal. Finally he let go of the breast, and after a few slow blinks, closed his eyes in sleep.

“What a tiring day you’ve had, my little man,” Brienne murmured, “And what shall we call you?”

In a flash, it came to him. “Arthur,” Jaime replied, “We should call him Arthur. Arthur Dayne knighted me, after all; if not for him we’d never have met.”

Brienne looked at him, considering, “I do like it, but it is a very _Dornish_ name, Jaime.”

“It is.” He swallowed, went on, “But all those responsible for my daughter’s death are dead, and Arthur Dayne was the truest knight, besides you, that I have ever known. It would be a fitting name for the son of two knights to bear.”

She looked down at their son, sleeping quietly in her arms. Just then there was a knock, and Lord Selwyn entered, looking a little lost.

 “Father,” Brienne said, smiling, “come greet your grandson. Come meet Arthur of House Lannister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was torn between Arthur and Galladon as baby names, especially since Galladon of Morne is meant to have been the perfect knight, but then the dornish wine reference put Arthur over the top.
> 
> Comments are appreciated, or come say hey over on [tumblr](https://pastequefolle.tumblr.com/), where I am _still_ salty about how d&d treated our babies.


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